Mr Austria and the GPS
by PRAUS
Summary: It was a gift. Just a harmless, well-intentioned gift. Germany could not have foreseen the consequences... Warnings: crack-filled romance and plot with AustriaxGermany, and Prussia makes an appearance too. Rated T for, what else, language.


_**For Kyohana, who is still waiting for that GPS to answer her.**_

* * *

"Austria," Germany said entering the parlor and clearing his throat.

The spectacled nation lifted his eyes up from the book he was currently reading to see the tall blonde shifting his weight from foot to foot hesitantly.

"The – uh – package I b-bought for you arrived."

One arm was tucked behind Germany's back, holding what Austria assumed to be the aforementioned parcel.

Austria set his book down on the coffee table and scooted himself to the edge of the couch, resting his hands on top of his legs in prim anticipation.

"You bought a present for me?"

"Y-yes. Well, no…um, sort of."

Germany produced the item from behind his back, holding it out awkwardly for Austria to take. A plain brown box. The spectacled nation frowned slightly at its lack of presentation. Germany had a lot to learn in that regard, but then the stern blonde was not one to display sudden bursts of amicable gift-giving. The fact he bought Austria anything at _all_ (excepting Christmas) was enough to make the pianist shrug off the slight annoyance of the gift being unwrapped.

Austria accepted the package with a subtle smile, his fingers working against the packing tape keeping it shut but only managing to succeed in tearing the offending tape off in small pieces.

After some huffs of irritation from Austria, Germany stepped in, obliging himself to open the box.

The spectacled nation watched the blonde's wide, firm hands as Germany manhandled the package, slipping one finger under the flap and tearing open the unyielding cardboard. He handed the box back to Austria, who proceeded to sift through layers of bubble wrap and Styrofoam, eyes growing ever wider with anticipation. _What_ could Germany have gotten him?

Austria reached his quarry – taped and wrapped in more poppable plastic – and tore into it. Delicacy and proper behavior be damned! He wanted to see his prize. After years – nay, decades! – spent in each other's acquaintance, Austria never thought (though he often hoped) Germany could, possibly, in some way have or share the same feelings towards him that _he_ had. Germany had bought him a _gift_. Outside of Christmas. This was no special occasion. Austria was only visiting for the week, and Germany had _bought_ him a _gift_ to coincide with his visit. He could have already mailed it, but no! Germany chose to save it and wait for Austria to give it to him personally. And that was significant, right? Right.

Austria wet his lips as the last of the bubble wrap fell away to reveal something smooth and black and … square?

_What?_ Austria blinked.

…fell away to reveal something smooth and black and square and full of wires and _what in God's name was it?_

Austria twisted the thing around in his hand, brows knitting together. He turned his questioning gaze up to Germany.

"It's a GPS," the blonde supplied. "Do you like it?"

Austria's shoulders sagged in disappointment. The action went unnoticed by Germany, who was positively bouncing on his toes, an eager and boyish smile plastered on his face. Austria should have known. Germany never could read the subtly of body language. The years the blonde nation spent in complete oblivion with Italy should have told Austria _that_ much. He shouldn't be surprised. Not really. His disappointment should not be with the gift but with himself. He'd expected too much.

"What…what does it…do?" Austria asked in a pinched voice.

"It gives you directions. So you don't get lost," Germany stated matter-of-factly. "I'm sorry, _Österreich, _but I can't keep running out to find you every time you get turned around."

Germany sat down beside his old ally. Austria felt the sinking of the cushions mirroring the internal sinking in his chest.

"Actually I'm getting quite tired of it. And I think it's time you joined _this_ century," Germany chuckled. He ran a hand over his slicked back hair, gazing thoughtfully at the device in Austria's hand. Sometimes one's blissful oblivion was another's pain.

"Sorry to_ inconvenience_ you," Austria spat. "You act like I get lost on _purpose_ – "

Austria abruptly halted what was sure to be a sound verbal lashing. It wasn't _exactly_ true. Well. Not _all_ the time on purpose. Not all, but…one or two...what percentage was some? More than twenty but less than fifty? Maybe? Okay, to be fair, _some_ of the times he did get lost on purpose because….? _Because you'd have to be dead not to enjoy the sight of muscle-bound Germany coming to your rescue, am I right?_

_No!_ Austria steeled himself, shocked at his own lewd thoughts. He was not France. He merely…enjoyed Germany's company. But it was becoming quite apparent said company did _not_ enjoy _his_.

Austria set the package on the coffee table. The strange plastic contraption poked out of its wrappings. It sleek, black face stared up at him. Mocking him. Austria frowned at it. He would gladly stick out his tongue, but such an action would be childish. Instead he contented himself by eyeing it with disdain. Oh, if only that thing could _see_ the disdain in his face! It would feel so ashamed! And it should, for it was nothing more than a surrogate. An evil surrogate usurping his time with Germany. Austria hardly saw Germany at all these days and now this thing – this wonderful invention of man – threatened to drive a wedge between them. He would no longer need Germany's help when he got lost – accidentally or on purpose – and thus would never see the blonde nation again except at world meetings!

Filled with such contempt, Austria barely registered Germany shifting in his seat, reaching for the box. "I can set it up for you if you'd like."

Austria hummed a response, still staring at the place the box had been.

Germany pressed a button on the side. A loud _dong_ echoed in the parlor, letting them know the cursed device had switched on.

Austria cast it a sidelong glance. "Where are the other buttons?" he asked, supposing he should show at least _some_ interest in this thing Germany deemed a necessary part of _this_ century.

"It's a touch screen," Germany said, fingers tapping lightly against the face of the instrument. It _beeped_ and _booped_ in acquiescence, gladly accepting whatever information Germany programmed into it.

Austria grinned maliciously. When _his_ turn came to use it, he would give that thing _such_ a poking. Oh, how he'd relish jamming his fingers into the face of Germany's usurper. He wondered what noises it would make then….

"All done," Germany announced and deposited the infernal thing in Austria's lap.

The spectacled nation stared down at it. Its brightly lit screen beamed back up at him. Friendly illustrations done up in happy colors dotted the screen waiting, almost pleading, to be touched. To be used.

Austria had half a mind to throw it across the room but was interrupted by Prussia's sudden entrance.

"What you got there, Specs?"

"It's – " Austria looked at Germany, forgetting what the correct name for the thing was. He was quite sure Germany would not appreciate Austria's many names for his gift.

"It's a GPS," Germany supplied. "So he stops getting lost."

Prussia doubled over in amusement. "Welcome to the twenty-first century, old man!" He slapped Austria's shoulder. "Christ, you still can't tell your ass from your elbow, huh? Now you got a machine to do it for you!"

"That's quite enough!" Austria snapped.

"You always did suck at reading maps!" Prussia was breathless now, slumped against the wall. Tears of laughter pooled in the creases of his eyes.

"Hey!" he said, righting himself and drying his eyes with the heel of his hand. "Hey, Specs, now you can take me to the store and I won't have to drive your car!"

Despite himself, Austria brightened a little at this revelation. Prussia behind the wheel was…well, he was amazed they made it home the other night in one piece and without the whole of the Berlin police department on their tail.

"C'mon," Prussia said, giving Austria's foot a kick, "we're almost out of beer."

"You mean _you're_ almost out," Austria corrected, pulling himself to his feet. "I don't drink that swill. But I _do_ need to pick up some decent coffee. Preferably one that isn't mud flavored." This last comment was followed by a particularly scathing look at Germany. The blonde nation's ears reddened at the jibe. Austria smiled to himself as he followed Prussia out to the driveway.

* * *

Austria's refinement was not without frugality, which was why he still drove his 1975 Mercedes Benz W114. He could not justify parting with it. It was a fine automobile – and it still ran. Besides, he reasoned, he'd rather pay a few hundred in maintenance than fork out tens of thousands for a new car.

Austria seated himself behind the wheel and Prussia happily plopped down in the passenger seat.

"Where does this go?" Austria asked, looking despondently at his dashboard as if he expected a GPS holder to have somehow appeared.

"It's easy, Specs. Watch." Prussia took the GPS, plugged the adapter into the cigarette lighter, turned the touch screen over, licked his palm, and unceremoniously smeared it across the large suction cup protruding from the back. He affixed the suction cup to the car's windshield and flipped the lever to lock it in place.

"That's _disgusting!_" Austria balked. "Y-your saliva is all over my windshield!"

"Whatever," Prussia shrugged. He wiped his hand on his pants leg and activated the GPS.

Prussia typed in the address of the closest supermarket. It was a place Austria had been to countless times when he visited the brothers, yet it was also one, he loathingly admitted, he didn't have the slightest clue how to find. The map and landmarks in his head just didn't seem to translate to the actual road layout. That's not to say he _never_ made it to his destination. He did. It just took a bit longer was all. Hungary used to call it the "scenic route" before she became fed up with their extra-long excursions and stopped joining him all together. This was just after it was no longer fashionable to hire your own driver – when the world abandoned carriages and horses in favor of petrol and rubber. Ah, well. Times change and so could he.

As Austria approached the end of the street, a loud _dong_ erupted from the GPS, shaking him from his thoughts.

"What the hell was that?" Austria shrieked.

"The alert," Prussia said. "Listen."

"Listen?! I'm nearly _deaf_. Doesn't it have volume control?"

Prussia ignored the request. He pointed to the screen and Austria could see an arrow indicating they would be turning right. His conclusion was followed by a computerized woman's voice instructing him, quite loudly, to turn right.

"I can see that!" Austria snapped.

"What?"

"_That!_" Austria pointed at the GPS. "Why does it have to yell at me? I can see it wants me to turn right. Can't we mute it or something?"

Prussia rolled his eyes and turned on the radio. He fiddled with the dials until he found some industrial/metal station and cranked up the volume.

As Austria proceeded into his right turn, the GPS instructed him to do something else but he missed the directions over the music blasting from the speakers.

"Turn that down! I can't hear what I'm supposed to do."

"Christ, Specs. First you're bitchin' about the thing being too loud and _now_ you wanna hear it? Make up your fuckin' mind."

Austria's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. He glanced up at the screen and saw the indicator directing him to go straight. He obeyed.

Prussia grudgingly turned the radio down once a commercial cut in.

Austria began to relax, listening to the low buzz of the radio announcer's voice just audible over the droll hum of the engine as the car rolled along and the –

_Dong!_

Austria jerked violently back, heart hammering in his chest at the GPS' interruption. Even above the instructions it gave, he could hear Prussia snickering in the passenger seat. There was no way he could get used to this. His drive back to his home in two days was bound to be…interesting.

* * *

_Continue. 19.6. Kilometers._

He was on the A113. Not even an hour into his trip back and already Austria wanted to chuck the GPS and its halting voice out of the window. It was an eyesore. New technology replacing the old road atlases that could easily be tucked out of sight when no longer needed. But this had to _stay._ Anchored to his windshield, partially obscuring the view. But he'd much rather look at _it_ than Prussia's saliva. And it _was_ a gift from Germany. Not something he – Austria – would deem worthy of giving, but something he should have expected from the blonde nation. Practical. Sensible. Safe. Germany worried. Germany was just looking out for him. Austria should be happy with that knowledge. And he was.

_Dong!_

But sometimes….

_Keep. Left._

Sometimes getting lost….

_Continue. 62. Kilometers._

Could be so much more fun.

This was going to be a long seven hours.

* * *

He had been listening to his favorite Mozart Concerto – the Piano Concerto No. 21 in C Major – as he entered the Czech Republic. The GPS had been relatively quiet after Dresden and he chanced turning the volume up on the car's CD player (a rare modification but one Austria deemed necessary.)

He was on the part of E55 that snaked through the picturesque Central Bohemian Uplands and the GPS began to go apeshit.

_Turn. Left._

_Turn. Right._

_Take. First. Left._

_Turn. Right._

"I know! I've driven this hundreds of times!"

_Turn. Left._

"Don't ignore me – "

_Turn. Right._

" – or so help me I'll…I'll – "

_Continue. 300. Meters._

"Fine!" Austria huffed. "You asked for it."

He ejected the soothing music of Mozart's concertos and popped in Beethoven's Fifth.

The tempestuous first movement burst from the speakers but the GPS did not take the hint. Instead, it readied itself with a stony command:

_Turn. Right._

Austria could swear the timbre changed. No longer a computerized woman but a frigid mistress. He cranked up the volume on the CD, but the voice seemed to match it.

_TAKE. RAMP. RIGHT._

God! It was no use! He could not combat it. The GPS would always win.

Austria dialed the volume back down.

_Continue. 58. Kilometers._

His mistress' voice was back to its usual halting speech, though he was sure he detected a faint glimmer of triumph in those last words. Austria resigned himself to the fact he'd have the endure her barking directions at him the remainder of the trip.

Unless….

A mountain breeze wafted its way in through his half-open window.

Unless….

He _could_ do it. No one would ever know. He could do _it._ Austria chanced a glance up at the device. Still sitting pretty in its perch on his windshield. In the background, the first movement was reaching its conclusion. _He could do it!_

Austria reached a hand up, at first caressing the smooth black plastic before tightening his grip to yank the damned thing off.

The GPS did not speak, only stared accusingly back as the indicator arrow moved ever forward.

_What. Would. Germany. Say?_

Austria blinked. "Germany?"

_Yes. Germany._

"I don't – it doesn't matter…to hell with what he thinks. I d-don't care," Austria spluttered.

_Yes. You. Do._

"No. I don't."

_Yes! I. Was. A. Gift. Remember? From. Your. Beloved. Germany. He. Cares. About. You. You. Know? He. Just. Wants. You. To. Be. Safe. Afterall._

"Oh, you're right!" Austria moaned. It _was_ a gift. And what kind of gentleman would he be by refusing a gift from a long-time friend? Even if said gift wasn't quite what he'd had in mind. But Germany _cared, _in his own strange way. The GPS stood as evidence to that.

Austria's hand fell away from the GPS. It became silent once more, its bright screen shining haughtily down. The symphony's second movement began and they drove on in quiet conciliation.

* * *

In the weeks that followed, Austria faithfully relied on the GPS to take him anywhere and everywhere. Even if it was a short trip to the market, he still dutifully plugged in the address and let it lead him on.

He knew he didn't _need_ it. He could recite the various routes in his sleep. It was just comforting to know it was always there. An ever-ready guide.

* * *

Nearly a year had passed when he received a call from Germany alerting him about the next world meeting. It was to be in Belgium in a month's time. When Germany asked if he should pick Austria up at the train station or airport, the spectacled nation replied happily saying: "Neither. I'll drive."

"B-but that's a half-day's trip," Germany said.

"I know. Don't worry. I plan to break it up by stopping for the night in Frankfurt."

"…Are you sure?" Germany asked. _Are you sure you won't get lost? _was left unsaid.

"Yes, I'm sure. I've become quite fond of driving," Austria cheerily answered.

"All right. I'll see you then."

* * *

Austria never knew why he continued attending these things. The week would drag on and the meetings ended up in chaos as they always did, with the major powers arguing amongst themselves while the "lesser" countries hardly got a word in. Usually he didn't mind joining the fray, offering snippy comments whenever the opportunity arose. But this time, he chose to remain quiet. All of his sense had told him to turn around and just leave and he was regretting not listening to it when the last meeting was finally adjourned.

As Austria exited the conference room, Germany caught up with him and asked if he'd like to grab a cup of coffee. Austria rubbed his tired eyes and nodded. He could use a pick-me-up.

"You were quiet today, _Österreich._ Are you feeling okay?" Germany asked as they stepped outside.

Austria looked around, trying to get his bearings.

"Was the trip too long?" Germany continued, turning left down the sidewalk.

"Turn right," Austria corrected. He pointed to the corner where a small coffee stand stood.

"Oh. Thanks," Germany said.

They grabbed a table outside and Germany ordered the coffees.

"Listen," Germany said, handing Austria a steaming mug, "could you do me a favor? I hate to ask, but my boss wants to spend a few extra days here. And Prussia's been at my throat to go home. Can't really blame him, though. It must be boring to be cooped up in a hotel room all day. But, anyway, I was wondering, since you're leaving tomorrow, would you terribly mind taking a little detour and dropping Prussia off at home? You're more than welcome to stay, of course, until I get back…unless you've got something pressing, in which case, I completely understand."

Austria laughed to himself. He didn't think the blonde nation was capable of that many words strung together all at once. He knew Germany hated imposing, preferring instead to take care of things himself. It was almost endearing to hear him ask.

Austria smiled, inclining his head.

"Thank you, _Österreich!_ Thank you."

Austria smiled again, rubbing his eyes and staring into his mug. He wished the coffee would perk him up. But these meetings could be _so_ draining, and if he was going to have a seven hour trip to Berlin with Prussia to look forward to, he would need all the rest he could get.

* * *

Prussia never was a good listener. Austria tapped his foot impatiently, arms folded across his chest as he watched Prussia put yet another soiled dish in the sink. Austria had indicated just this morning that Prussia needed to clean his mess. Germany was due home any moment.

"What?" Prussia said, seeing the look on Austria's face.

The pianist pointed to the sink and snipped, "Continue."

"Continue what? You don't make any sense, Specs."

"_Continue._"

"What?! You want me to wash 'em? Half the shit is _yours._"

Austria glared daggers at Prussia, his foot never ending its tapping.

"Christ I'll be glad when West gets home," Prussia snarled, snatching up a plate and turning on the faucet.

* * *

At quarter to seven, the latch on the front door snapped open. Germany was home. Austria glanced up from his newspaper as Prussia bounded into the hallway.

"West!" he called. "West, thank God you're home. One more minute with this crazy fucker and I was gonna shoot myself. You'll never guess what the trip home with him was like," Prussia hissed, pulling his brother out onto the front porch.

"_Bruder,_ please. I just got home. Let me relax a little first."

"No! West, you gotta listen to me. I don't know what the hell you did, but it messed with his brain," Prussia pressed on, voice lowering to a whisper.

Germany rubbed his temples. He just wasted almost two weeks of his life at an entirely pointless meeting, the train ride back was fraught with delays, he could really use a beer or three right now, and if this was Prussia's idea of a joke, Germany swore he would choke some color into his brother's pale face.

"…Why do you say it's _my_ fault?" Germany ground out.

Prussia's eyes shifted to the window. He could see Austria sitting in Germany's favorite wingback chair, glaring at them from over his newspaper.

"Because," Prussia began, positioning himself so Austria couldn't see what they were talking about, "it all started with that damned GPS you bought him."

"That's ridiculous!" Germany sidestepped Prussia and started for the door.

"No!" Prussia grabbed his brother's shirtsleeve. "West, just hear me out, okay? The _entire_ trip home from Belgium, he didn't play _any_ music – _none_ of that classical shit he likes to listen to _and_ he slapped my hand away from the radio when I tried to turn it on. Instead, he plugged in that damned GPS and gave me turn-by-turn directions how to get home. I mean, he was even _saying it in unison_ with the thing. It was _weird_. So I tried to talk to him. He only responded when the GPS wasn't telling him what to do. But even then, he didn't talk _normally_."

Germany, at first humoring Prussia by listening the story (and waiting for the punch line), found himself growing more intrigued with each word. Prussia was a gifted liar, but even Germany couldn't deny the ever-widening crimson eyes and the nervous side glances and the way Prussia's voice lowered until it was hardly above a whisper. What his brother told him was the truth. Prussia never looked this worried when he lied.

"…What do you mean, 'normally?'" Germany asked.

"Well, he talked and stuff, but it was like, y'know, he was giving me directions."

"But you just said he was repeating the GPS..."

"The GPS wasn't _talking_ when Austria talked. We'd be on this stretch of road and it'd be quiet for, like, and hour or so and only _then_ would he answer me. But it wasn't a clear answer. We – or _I_ – started to talk about Hungary, and he didn't like it. But he didn't tell me to shut up or anything. He just glared at me and said 'Make a U-turn.'"

"Like he was giving directions," Germany said.

"Yeah! Exactly."

"_Scheisse._" Germany raked a hand through his hair. Since the beginning of Prussia's story, his beer requisition had increased fourfold.

"What do we do, West?"

But before Germany could answer, the front door creaked open. Austria stood in the frame, silhouetted against the yellow light from the hall. He faced Prussia, glasses catching the light spilling onto the porch, obscuring his eyes. Austria raised a thin arm, index finger pointing sharply at the road.

"Continue. East." His voice was cold, halting.

"Fuck you! That's not my name!" Prussia snarled, starting for Austria.

"_Bruder,_" Germany whispered, placing a hand on Prussia's chest. "He didn't mean anything by it."

"He knows we were talking about him," Prussia hissed back. "He did that on _purpose_!"

Austria stepped forward, still glaring at Prussia and pointing to the road. "Continue. East."

Prussia looked at his brother. He knew what that command meant. "He wants me gone." Prussia's fists clenched and unclenched as he turned back to face Austria, shouting, "But the idiot forgets _I_ live here!"

Austria's scowl deepened.

"Don't exacerbate things, Gil."

"Well, then, _what_ are we going to _do_?" Prussia said between clenched teeth.

"I'm thinking…." Germany said, eyes darting between the murderous Prussian and the crazed Austrian before falling on something sleek and beige sitting parked in his driveway. Austria's car.

"Gilbert, get inside the house. Austria and I are going for a ride."

Prussia looked up at his baby brother. "What?"

"You heard me."

"West, no. You don't want to be alone with that guy – "

"I can handle him. I think I know how to undo this. I'll be fine."

"Okay." Gilbert edged his way along the front of the house towards the front door.

"When. Possible. Make a U-turn." Austria commanded, blocking Prussia from slipping through the opened door.

"When. Possible. Make a U-turn!" Austria advanced on Prussia.

The ex-nation turned an imploring gaze to his brother for help as the pianist advanced, still spouting that inane command.

Germany positioned himself between the two nations, momentarily breaking Austria's fixation on Prussia. The pianist gazed up at the tall blonde in stunned silence.

Germany took the interlude as his chance: "Say, Austria…would you like to go for a drive with me? I – uh – need to get some…g-groceries and I – uh – don't remember how to get to the store."

"…Continue." Austria said.

"That means 'yes,'" Prussia said, poking Germany in the back.

"I figured that," Germany hissed over his shoulder. Then, turning back to Austria: "Can we take your car? Mine is, um, well, th-the battery died."

"God, you suck at lying, West," Prussia said from behind his brother. "Are you just pulling this out of your ass? I hope your 'plan' has more to it."

"Shut up. I think he's buying it," Germany muttered.

Austria seemed to consider Germany for a moment before inclining his head and handing over the keys. "Continue."

"Thank God," Germany sighed. "Prussia, get in the house before he sees you and gets riled again."

"Luck, West." Prussia patted his brother on the back and slipped through the front door as Germany led Austria to the driveway.

* * *

Germany cranked the car and was instantly blinded by the light of the GPS screen turning on.

"You know, you should really turn that off when your car is not running," Germany said, trying to keep his voice light and conversational as he blinked away tiny square afterimages. "It will drain the battery if you leave it on."

"Continue," Austria said. The logic seemed reasonable enough. Germany always was logical. Unlike that _other_ one.

But then Germany did something rather illogical. He pushed the button on the side of the GPS. The bright screen faded to black. Austria's stomach contracted in a panic.

"Make a U-turn! Make a U-turn! Make a U-turn!"

"I'm putting it on power save," Germany explained – much the same way one does to a child. "I want you tell me how to get to the store, okay?"

The tension in his gut subsided a little and Austria sank back in his seat, giving Germany a long, appraising stare before saying: "…Continue."

The blonde nation backed out of the driveway, allowing Austria to guide him to the market. Once there, he picked up a couple of cases of beer for Prussia and him to split and a bottle of wine for Austria. If this worked, all three of them would need to celebrate – and to forget this _ever_ happened.

* * *

On the way back home, Germany asked if it'd be all right if he listened to the radio. Austria, after having successfully fulfilled his duty in getting Germany to the market, allowed it.

Germany fiddled with the dials until he found a classical station. Austria continued giving him directions how to get home (which Germany pretended to follow while increasing the music's volume every so often.)

When Germany missed the final turn for his street, Austria gave him a quizzical look, saying: "Make a U-turn."

"But it's such a nice night, I thought we'd go for a drive, _Österreich_."

"Make a U-turn."

"I don't think so."

Panic flooded Austria's chest. "Make. A. U-turn!"

"No."

Austria reached for the GPS but Germany was faster. The blonde nation yanked the device out of its perch.

"Just relax. Listen to the music."

In a fury, Austria began shouting "Make a U-turn" at the top of his lungs over and over again.

Germany pointedly ignored him, turning up the volume. "Is this Chopin, by any chance?"

"Make a U-turn! Make a U-turn! Make a U-turn!"

"No? Didn't think so. Ah, well. I was never good at telling one composer from another. Maybe you could teach me to hear the difference."

* * *

They were out of the city limits of Berlin by now. Austria's chants had long died off, turning into feeble attempts to guess Germany's next move. Whenever he'd say "Right," Germany would take to car left and vice versa, winding the car through small towns along the German country side.

The twists and turns through the small villages eventually stopped, replaced only by the straight path of highway, but Austria had fallen silent long ago. He was completely and utterly lost. He turned to look at Germany, to try and get some understanding, but the blonde nation was silent, unreadable. A flurry of violins played in the background and Austria almost remembered the name of the piece. His brow furrowed as he worked to dredge up something long since buried. He used to enjoy this. He felt quite certain of that. He used to enjoy meandering drives listening to music. With Hungary. The "scenic" route. Until she admonished him to pull over and….

What?

_Ask for directions._

And then his eyes fell on it. A black beacon resting on the seat beside Germany's leg. He swore to himself he would never be lost again. He would never ask for _help_ again. It was a gift, after all….

Austria lunged for the GPS, his fingers wrapping around the smooth black plastic. But Germany's hand was around his. How had he'd seen? How had he known?

Germany's grip was too tight, forcing the Austrian to relinquish his hold on the device.

Germany glared at Austria out of the corner of his eyes. "You don't need this, _Österreich_. You've become dependent on it. Instead of relying on yourself, on your own knowledge, of paying attention to the signs in front of you, you've come to rely too much on _this_." Germany held up the GPS for effect, but it was little more than a black blur amongst the countless black blurs along the night road.

Austria's eyes narrowed. Who was _he_ to say such things?

A resounding piano in the background, its pace quickly building to something frenetic. Chopin.

"Signs?" Austria scoffed.

Germany nearly dropped the GPS. Austria was _speaking_ to him. And it wasn't in halting directions.

"You think _I_ can't read signs? You hypocrite!"

"…_Österreich_, what – "

"For _years_, I've devoted myself to you and this is the thanks I get! This f-fucking piece of plastic!" Austria snatched the GPS out of Germany's hand, rolled down his window, and tossed it out. "The clothes I mended for you, the desserts I made for you, the concerts I've invited you to…not to mention standing beside you while you nearly _destroyed_ yourself!"

Germany felt all the heat rush to his face. God, he was glad it was dark. "I-I'm…."

"Completely oblivious. I know. It's charming and I hate it. I made the same mistake with Spain centuries ago. But I think he does it on purpose."

"I don't suppose 'I'm sorry' will ever be enough," Germany said, pulling the car over.

Austria shrugged. "Where are we, anyway?"

"I have no idea," Germany said. "You chucked the GPS."

Austria laughed. "You know, I only kept that thing because of you. I wanted to throw that GPS away but I also wanted to spite you, so I used it. It was like a piece of you, since you gave it to me. But I just let it take me over, I guess. I felt superior in a way, always knowing where to go. And you made me feel guilty, which is a rare thing – but if you tell Prussia that, I'm poisoning your coffee."

"Guilty about what?"

"Coming to get me every time I got lost."

"I know. And I'm sorry, _Österreich_. But, on the bright side, now we're lost together," Germany chuckled. "Shall we see where we are?"

"All right," Austria said, opening his car door.

They were on a quiet stretch of country road. Farm fields stretched away in all directions. Austria craned his neck upwards. A multitude of stars dotted the deep blue sky.

"You know, being in the city so long, you forget just how many stars there are. It almost doesn't seem real."

"You're right," Germany said, going to stand beside the pianist.

"We could be like the old sailors and use the stars to guide us home."

"We could. Or we could make the best of it and worry about getting home in the morning."

"What do you mean?"

"Well," Germany said, going over to the trunk and popping it open. "I got this to celebrate breaking you out of your GPS trance." Germany held up a bottle of wine. "And of course there's beer for me."

Austria examined the label on the bottle. A good vintage. "I can see I managed to teach you _some_ things."

"Yes, you did," Germany smiled. He took out his pocketknife and unstopped the cork. He handed the bottle back to Austria and grabbed a beer out of the trunk.

They made their way up the hillock beside the road to the flat, grassy field. Austria settled himself down, lounging on his side with one hand propping his head up. Germany sat beside him, cross-legged and relaxing into a slight slouch, and pried the top off his beer. They toasted each other silently and drank, contented beneath their blanket of stars.

* * *

_**A/N **Yay for happy endings and yay for crack-filled romances! I don't know about you guys, but that started to get a little 2001: A Space Odyssey to me. _

_Originally I hadn't planned for it to go full out romance (in my head, Austria has an unrequited love for Germany)…but I think ultimately Germany gave in, just this once._

_Thanks for reading this crack-tastic story. Reviews and crits (the constructive kind only please!) are always welcomed._


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